for Mrunal Thakur’s face when she hears the flute. For the thirty seconds of pure silence in the second half when Radha puts tulsi on Krishna’s foot. For the attempt to bring Jayadeva to the masses.
Rajput, unfortunately, falls off.
There is a specific, almost unbearable tension in watching Geeta Govinda . On one hand, you are witnessing perhaps the most visually sumptuous Indian film of the decade. On the other, you are watching a sacred 12th-century Sanskrit poem get flattened into a 21st-century soap opera. Director Arjun Rajput has managed the impossible: he has taken Jayadeva’s ecstatic, radical poetry of divine longing and turned it into a lukewarm, aesthetically pristine music video about “toxic relationships.” geeta govinda movie review
This framing device is the film’s anchor, and it is made of lead. By filtering Radha-Krishna through a modern man’s therapy-speak (“She has abandonment issues,” he mutters during a rain sequence), the film neuters the divine. Radha is no longer the Mahabhava (the great emotion); she is just a girl with a jealous boyfriend.
Rating: ★★ (2/5)
if you actually love the Geeta Govinda . The poem is not a story about a guy messing up and saying sorry. It is a cosmic dance of viraha (separation) that suggests absence is the highest form of love. This movie gives you presence, closure, and a post-credits scene where the historian gets a girlfriend.
The screenplay, credited to three writers, commits its first cardinal sin within the first fifteen minutes. It removes the ashtapadis (the lyrical stanzas) from their emotional context and inserts them as background songs. Worse, it introduces a “modern” framing device: a cynical art historian (Vikrant Massey, looking lost) who finds a manuscript and hallucinates the entire love story. for Mrunal Thakur’s face when she hears the flute
Go for the costumes. Stay for Thakur. Leave before the final song.
for Mrunal Thakur’s face when she hears the flute. For the thirty seconds of pure silence in the second half when Radha puts tulsi on Krishna’s foot. For the attempt to bring Jayadeva to the masses.
Rajput, unfortunately, falls off.
There is a specific, almost unbearable tension in watching Geeta Govinda . On one hand, you are witnessing perhaps the most visually sumptuous Indian film of the decade. On the other, you are watching a sacred 12th-century Sanskrit poem get flattened into a 21st-century soap opera. Director Arjun Rajput has managed the impossible: he has taken Jayadeva’s ecstatic, radical poetry of divine longing and turned it into a lukewarm, aesthetically pristine music video about “toxic relationships.”
This framing device is the film’s anchor, and it is made of lead. By filtering Radha-Krishna through a modern man’s therapy-speak (“She has abandonment issues,” he mutters during a rain sequence), the film neuters the divine. Radha is no longer the Mahabhava (the great emotion); she is just a girl with a jealous boyfriend.
Rating: ★★ (2/5)
if you actually love the Geeta Govinda . The poem is not a story about a guy messing up and saying sorry. It is a cosmic dance of viraha (separation) that suggests absence is the highest form of love. This movie gives you presence, closure, and a post-credits scene where the historian gets a girlfriend.
The screenplay, credited to three writers, commits its first cardinal sin within the first fifteen minutes. It removes the ashtapadis (the lyrical stanzas) from their emotional context and inserts them as background songs. Worse, it introduces a “modern” framing device: a cynical art historian (Vikrant Massey, looking lost) who finds a manuscript and hallucinates the entire love story.
Go for the costumes. Stay for Thakur. Leave before the final song.